Thursday, December 6, 2007

Misty March Morning

//misty march morning


Papery, raspberry-red
and the last,
dark-rose quince blossoms
fluttering down
are the norm here
this time of year.
Today, a ghostly mist drifts
through our courtyard,
past our windows.
The house next door
looms like a Bronte crag,
a shadow through fog.
The city below,
down the hill,
is gone from sight,
veiled in white.
The air outside
when we bring in the papers
is quiet as a yawn:
birds silent,
planes grounded,
traffic muffled,
Interrupted only
by a foghorn’s
warning moan,
and the dripping
of condensed fog
from gutters.
We decide not
to take a walk
on our shrouded hill.
Instead, we bundle in down
to keep the chill
from our bones,
sip cafe au lait,
do crossword puzzles
by the light of our
blue and ecru

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